


Dumpster Buddies

by orphan_account



Category: Daredevil (TV), Hawkeye (Comics)
Genre: First Meeting, Gen, dumpster
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-01
Updated: 2016-09-01
Packaged: 2018-08-12 10:32:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7931284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I know that the "Clint meets Matt in a dumpster" fanfics are out done but I just really wanted to write one!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dumpster Buddies

Clint woke up in a smelly area lying on trash bags. He groaned and rolled over until he was half sitting and looked around, squinting in the darkness.  
   
"Great, I'm in a dumpster," He groaned "...again."

He fell back down and sighed as he rubbed his palms over his eyes until he heard a groan he was almost certain didn't come from him.

He glanced beside him only to see darkness, "hello?"

There was a moment silence until a deep voice answered, "Who are you?"

"Uhh, Who are you?" Clint stubbornly asked back.

"I asked you first," The voice moved a bit to the right, as if he was sitting up.

"I asked you second," Clint scolded, "... Clint."

The man seemed to consider something, "The press is calling me the Devil of Hell's Kitchen," He shook his head, "You can call me Mike."

"Huh," Clint glanced over to the voice, "I imagined you to be a Kevin."

"What?" The voice sounded confused, "Kevin... ?"

"Yeah, Devil of Hell's Kitchen - Kevin. But... Mike's cool enough."

"I'm guessing that the bow is yours. Let me guess, Robin Hood?" Mike asked, sounding amused.

"Hawkeye," Barton narrowed his eyes into the darkness. He heard a soft laugh, followed by a hiss of pain, "What?"

"Just... out of all the dumpsters in New York, we end up in the same one."

Clint though of this for a moment and laughed as well, "... so you have heard of me?"

"Your one of those from the alien invasion?"

"Yup," Clint said proudly, "crazy ass man thought he was better than the whole human race."

Clint smiled to himself until he heard another groan.

"So... how bad are you," Clint asked.

There was a sharp intake of breath, "Just a fractured rib and a few knife wounds. Nothing I can't handle."

"Same here, minus the knifes and broken rib," Clint replied, "I'll see if this'll open," He moved so he could try kick the lid open. He tried a few times but it wouldn't budge. 

"I'd be careful if I was you. You've broken your wrist."

"I don't even want to know how you did that," Clint noticed he had his hand tucked into his chest, "But... how did you do that."

"...I could hear it."

"That's so wierd," Clint tried kicking the lid again, dirt raining on top of them. 

"That's not going to open anytime soon," Mike stated. 

"Great. So I'm stuck in the dark with a ninja who can hear my bones..." Clint sighed, "Wait! I've got my phone in my pocket," He brought his non broken hand down to his trouser leg pocket and turned the flashlight on.

"Woah... For a minute there I thought you were kidding," Mike's torso was littered with knife wounds and the top half of his face was covered in a black mask. 

"Yes, I was kidding when I said I was stabbed," Mike said sarcastically.

"Yeah," Clint breathed nervously. He'd seen videos of this guy fighting like Natasha and wanted to get on his good side, "we need to get out of here though."

"I've got someone who can pick us up," Mike moved to get a burner out of his pocket and dialled a number.

"Hey Claire... no, I'm fine... yes? ... I'm in a dumpster..." Mike flinched, "ok, see ya," He hung up and struggled into a sitting position.

"So... Mike, what you in here for?"

"I might have misjudged how much gunmen there were in a human trafficking ring."

"Really?" Clint asked amused, "Gunmen with knives?"

"...Yes?"

Mike's phone started ringing. He picked it up and answered.

"Yeah... yes, a dumpster... sure, why not..."

He kept the phone beside his face and shook his head.

"So," Clint started, "come here often?"

"More than you might think," Mike laughed.

"Really?" Clint couldn't hide his smile. It disappeared once his flashlight suddenly switched off, "Shit, phone's dead."

"Doesn't matter, we'll be out of here soon enough..."

A few minutes later they heard a knock on the side of the dumpster.

"Yeah, that one you just knocked on..." He spoke into the phone, "Wait, what?" He hung up, "Turns out whoever threw you in left a block on the lid."

"Sounds like something they'd do," Clint admitted.

The lid opened and a woman peered in, "Mike?"

"Present."

"I thought you said you were fine," She argued.

"I am!" Mike defended and jumped out, "Room for another?"

He reached in and offered Clint his hand (who happily took it) and pulled him out.

Claire sighed, "Sure, why ever not?" She said sarcastically.

"Great, so where you taking us?" Clint asked, looking around.

Claire glared at him. "We'll be going back to his place," She motioned to Mike.

"Sure, how?" Clint noticed how Mike tensed.

"Well," Claire started walking so Clint took that as his que to follow, "How do you usually get around?" She asked Clint.

"I'll take the roofs," Mike jumped up the fire escape and disappeared.

"Typical," Claire sighed.

"What, he not like cabs?" Clint asked.

"Dunno," Claire admitted, "Never asked."

~ ~ ~ 

Mike's place was not what he expected. What he expected was a cave with cool gadgets, couches, expensive pictures on the walls and a huge open space.

What he got was a small apartment with not even a television. A bloodied couch and an armchair, no pictures and a bright, flashing billboard outside the window.

He had to remind himself that this was not Tony Stark but Mike... something. 

Clint parked himself on the couch as soon as Mike came in through the roof entrance. Claire went over to the kitchen island and pulled on a pair of medical gloves. She grabbed the first aid kit and came over to Clint.

Mike came down the stairs and sat in the armchair. "I'm just going to ask you a few questions while I wrap your hand. Number 1, how many fingers am I holding up?"

"Four."

"Did you hit your head on anything?"

Clint thought for a moment, "I hit my head off the side of a dumpster."

Claire looked up at him and shook her head, "Do you have anybody to call or will you stay here for the night?"

"Uh... yeah."

Clint pulled out his phone and called Natasha while Claire started shining a light into his eyes. 

"Hey Nat, long story..."

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading ^_^


End file.
